


Pastry for Beginners

by paisleyflowers



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Blow Jobs, Come Swallowing, M/M, Rough Sex, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-27 21:01:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20052469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paisleyflowers/pseuds/paisleyflowers
Summary: —There’s something about the heat of the kitchen, sweet, oozing jam and rolling pins that gets Aziraphale’s juices flowing. Crowley better keep that apron on tight, if he wants to learn the art of the patisserie when his Angel is around. It’s all fun and flour, and it isn’t just the pastry that's hard…—





	Pastry for Beginners

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MrsNoggin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsNoggin/gifts).

> This fic is inspired by an Good Omens AU from photos on Twitter of David and Michael baking. Thanks to MrsNoggin for the idea. I hope you enjoy some sweet pastry eroticism.
> 
> https://twitter.com/Unix81040624/status/1155959963904282624

‘Nice buns!,’ jeered Crowley, as he watched Aziraphale knead flour, salt and water on the benchtop. Aziraphale barely lifted his golden head, so intent was he on getting this first batch of dough right. Crowley was yet to take this seriously, something so important to Aziraphale, the art of Baking. In particular, the pleasures of patisserie: warm, hot muffins, oozing jam buns, teacakes, scones…he wiped his mouth at the thought of being able to bake these at home for Crowley. 

The previous week Crowley had watched his Angel intently browsing a brochure in their cottage, and couldn’t help but be curious. ‘Whatchu doing?’, he drawled, sprawling his arm around the velvet armchair Aziraphale sat at by the sunny window. He drew his glance up from the paper. ’Getting an Education. Now that crepes are as rare as hen’s teeth in the South Downs, I thought it might be a good idea to make them myself. For you. Well, for us!’ Crowley rained down petit-four kisses on his beloved’s forehead. ‘You’re too sweet, Angel. What shall I do in this place? No temptations but you. I’m borrrrrred,’ he louched. ‘Well…why don’t you come with me? You might actually learn something,’ Aziraphale answered, with a pert grin, reaching up to clasp hands with his Demon. 

Crowley grinned and slid to the drinks cabinet, splashing some Talisker into a tumbler. ‘Nah. That’s not for me. I like wine, I like song, I like imbibing in pleasures, not slaving in the kitchen to make them.’ Aziraphale rose from the chair and took a book out of the case. ‘Well, you do what you want. Which you always do. I’ll enjoy myself in the sensual delights of the kitchen with the other fine humans, and you can enjoy the fruits of my labour.’ Crowley slushed the hot, scented liquid down his throat and let out a hissing laugh. ‘Maybe I will. Maybe I just will.’

Aziraphale didn’t expect Crowley to take him up on his challenge, but the next day as the Bentley drew up at Le Cordon Bleu, he was pleasantly surprised to see Crowley’s saunter morph into a brisk walk, as they linked arms and pushed their way into the high ceilinged temple of gastronomy. He nodded a hello to some of his fellow gourmands, and took a place at his station, as did Crowley. A comfortable looking woman tapped a glass and welcomed the students to the class. ‘Welcome to Pastry for Beginners,’ she drawled in a Franglish accent. ‘ ‘Ere we shall learn how to knead dough, make pastries, and fill them with whatever you desire. It’s a good skill to learn and will serve you well in the future.’

Crowley stole a grin across the room at the Angel, but his nose was buried in the crimson recipe book with pleasure, gathering ingredients as he went. Crowley rolled his eyes, thinking this would would be a cake walk, but as the temperature of the rooms rose as the ovens warmed, he brushed flour off his sweaty brow and wondered whether a frivolous miracle or two might be in order. This was not his forte. Booze, and partying, and tempting writers with dark thoughts was his bag. Meanwhile, Aziraphale was hard at work, folding and twisting and delicately pushing in little jam pockets into his croissants like an old Master Patissier.

As the morning drew to a close, the students began to pack up their tools. Crowley slowly and deliberately did the same, hoping to delay their departure. All the sweet scents and warm air had made him feel aroused, and he know what food did to Aziraphale’s libido. He’d wait until the teacher left, or create some sort of reality bubble around them, and then they could have their wicked way with each other. Left to his machinations, he didn’t notice the room empty and Aziraphale approach him from behind and cover his eyes. ‘Guess who?’, he heard a jolly voice, attempting to suppress his delight. Crowley played along, ‘Who is it? Gabriel?’ A little giggle escaped the angel’s lips as he wrapped his arms around Crowley’s waist. He turned to face the blonde Principality, the light in his dark world and felt his trousers tighten. He went to kiss Aziraphale, who held his hand back, surprisingly strongly, and turned him around again. ’We have the room to ourselves, my dear. I thought we could make good use of resources,’ he gestured to the store cupboard, his warm breath on the demon’s neck. Crowley laughed nervously, not being used to Aziraphale being in control that often.

As Aziraphale began to stroke his neck and run his hand through his flaming locks, he felt as if a warm liquid was spreading through his body. Soon enough he noticed that yes, this earthly sensation was true, but something warm was also being spread onto his skin. Aziraphale had a small wooden spoon and was dripping it over his neck, his ears and cheeks. He languidly ran his warm, insistent tongue over Crowley’s face, the tip flicking off the juicy raspberry pips as he let out a low groan. The angel turned the demon to face him, and they flipped onto a bench and continue to taste each other’s salt and sugar blend together. Crowley went to nibble Aziraphale’s ear but felt a sharp blow to his arm. A wooden rolling pin had smacked him back and he laughed to himself. He might be the boss in the bedroom but the kitchen was Aziraphale’s dominion, and he was Crowley’s master. 

Crowley felt his cock harden to the point that it might break free from his trousers. ‘A-A-Angel. Please. Let me touch you, feel you.’ Aziraphale acceded, and wriggled his generous trousers down to let his warm cock spring out, to Crowley’s pleasure. He let out a moan, as Aziraphale held his head down onto his cock, flicking his tongue gently over the slick head. Crowley began to tease the wetness, when he felt his head being pushed deep over the whole length. The snake reflexes didn’t gag, but rather he began to work his head back and forth, causing low, deep rumbles to emanate from the divine being in his mouth. He felt Aziraphale grow larger and larger as he sucked harder and faster in rhythmic motions. They felt the divine when they blended together into one being, and Crowley could feel his Angel’s thick thighs shudder as he began to reach climax. 

Aziraphale gripped his locks so tight that Crowley thought he might pull hairs out, as sibilant moans escaped him. He tasted like honey, and salt and cum as Aziraphale cried out his name, a rush of warm liquid filled his mouth like a sort of perverted angel cake with a secret runny centre. They uncoupled and Aziraphale stood up, with a satisfied look on his flushed face. He ran his hands down Crowley’s taut thighs. ‘I think I might like a second helping of this. Lean over this bench, there you go,’ he instructed, as he loosened Crowley’s tight dark trousers to the floor, taking him rough from behind so fast that the air seemed to rush out of him. Aziraphale pushed in hard and deep, taking no prisoners, for baking and eating was the ultimate aphrodisiac to this bon vivant.

Crowley heard the rush of air as he realised that Aziraphale had let his wings open, as they had stopped time to allow themselves the pleasure and privacy of this room. The extra strength the wings propelled gave him the power to push deep and slow, changing the rhythm to bring Crowley to the brink of ecstasy. He began to pump his hot and desperate cock, wanting some relief from the angel’s devilish ways, but he felt Aziraphale slap it away. Crowley began to change the rhythm, moving his buttocks up so that he felt the thrusting on his prostate, tingles of starlight coursing through his veins and his mind, as the two brought each other to the brink of pleasure, both straining to reach that higher plane. Crowley couldn’t hold on any longer, the scent of Aziraphale’s sweat and burnt sugar filled his mind, and he let out an unearthly scream as he came hard on the bench, on the floor, onto Aziraphale’s arms. The angel kept holding on, kept thrusting even if his love felt sensitive, he wanted to have his way, for Crowley was so delicious. He couldn’t help himself when it came to Crowley…like fine food, he could never have his fill. 

As he began to see white lights that reminded him of Heaven, he let himself go, spurting hot juices to co-mingle with Crowley's, a divine blend of the sacred and the profane. They lay panting, pleased…and hungry.

‘Care for a pastry, my love?’, said Aziraphale with a wink, smearing flour on his Demon’s cheek. ‘Any time, sugar bun,’ replied Crowley with a satisfied smile.


End file.
